jured to his home;
He'll know thee well in future; and this hour
He and his children's children will remember.

GESSLER.
Open a way there--quick! Why this delay?
Thy life is forfeited; I might despatch thee,
And see I graciously repose thy fate
Upon the skill of thine own practised hand.
No cause has he to say his doom is harsh,
Who's made the master of his destiny.
Thou boastest of thy steady eye. 'Tis well!
Now is a fitting time to show thy skill.
The mark is worthy, and the prize is great.
To hit the bull's-eye in the target; that
Can many another do as well as thou;
But he, methinks, is master of his craft
Who can at all times on his skill rely,
Nor lets his heart disturb or eye or hand.

FURST.
My lord, we bow to your authority;
But, oh, let justice yield to mercy here.
Take half my property, nay, take it all,
But spare a father this unnatural doom!

WALTER.
Grandfather, do not kneel to that bad man!
Say, where am I to stand? I do not fear;
My father strikes the bird upon the wing,
And will not miss now when 'twould harm his boy!

STAUFFACHER.
Does the child's innocence not touch your heart?

ROSSELMANN.
Bethink you, sir, there is a God in heaven,
To whom you must account for all your deeds.

GESSLER (pointing to the boy).
Bind him to yonder lime tree straight!

WALTER.
Bind me? No, I will not be bound! I will be still,
Still as a lamb--nor even draw my breath!
But if you bind me I cannot be still.
Then I shall writhe and struggle with my bonds.

HARRAS.
But let your eyes at least be bandaged, boy!

WALTER.
And why my eyes? No! Do you think I fear
An arrow from my father's hand? Not I!
I'll wait it firmly, nor so much as wink!
Quick, father, show them that thou art an archer!
He doubts thy skill--he thinks to ruin us.
Shoot then and hit though but to spite the tyrant!

[He goes to the lime tree, and an apple is placed on his head.

MELCHTHAL (to the country people).
What! Is this outrage to be perpetrated
Before our very eyes? Where is our oath?

STAUFFACHER.
'Tis all in vain. We have no weapons here;
And see the wood of lances that surrounds us!

MELCHTHAL.
Oh! would to heaven that we had struck at once!
God pardon those who counselled the delay!

GESSLER (to TELL).
Now, to thy task! Men bear not arms for naught.
'Tis dangerous to carry deadly weapons,
And on the archer oft his shaft recoils.
This right these haughty peasant-churls assume
Trenches upon their master's pri